Coward's Way
by Iolani
Summary: Sometimes, the price of failure can only be experienced by way of redemption. The Z-Senshi are about to find this out the hard way, through the resurrection of Bardock, and the revival of a planet and era thought long dead...
1. Enter the Players

Good grief...this is so old, don't ask me why I'm putting it back up. Anyway, I don't own Dragonball Z, although I wish I did, and no money is being made out of this. Whether Bardock actually had nephews or brother(s), I have no clue. Language warning. 

**Coward's Way**

Part One: Enter the Players

_Time: Several hours before the destruction of Vegeta-sei  
Location: Planet Vegeta  
Status: Impossible_

He shivered violently, pressed hard against the ship's cold steel wall, the only thing sheltering him from the expanse of a world that had been, without a doubt, damned. The chill wracked his flesh, lancing down his spine and claiming reason and logic for its own. From somewhere deeper within the cargo hold, the sound of ragged breathing assaulted the Saiya-jin child's ears. His brother, severely injured by a flying piece of debris, and most likely on the verge of—

_No! _some inner voice screamed, overloading the young one's senses with its intensity._ No, he's not going to die!_

Beneath his feet, the terrain shuddered once more, and he was left asking himself why he had been foolish enough to think that four material walls would be able to keep them safe when Vegeta-sei finally went down in a flaming ball of yesterday's ruins, and what had left him clutching at the feeble hope that they'd somehow make it through this alive.

He fell to his knees, spiky brush of hair wavering, physical manifestation of his own insecurities. Reaching over, he pulled his younger sibling into his arms. The breathing was depthless, irregular.

_"Hide,"_ his uncle had told them. _"Go somewhere. Stay out of sight. If there's a chance...if there's a chance..."_

There had been a futile look in Bardock's eyes, and his gaze had been so terrible, they had obeyed, the older of the pair throwing a mere backwards glance over his shoulder, watching as his father's brother continued up the corridor, bloodied. He smelled of fear. Of truth. The younger Saiya-jins had followed his order without question or words, not speaking their minds or convictions to anybody save each other.

Another spasm wracked the surface of Vegeta-sei, seeming to come from the unfathomable depths of the planet's belly itself. A whimper erupted from the conscious one's throat, a weak, tremulous noise. It hung suspended upon charged atmosphere.

Sometimes, the silence of the young can prove lethal.

Time: Several hours before the destruction of Vegeta-sei  
Location: Planet Vegeta  
Status: Frustrated

Bardock faltered from where he stood, back to the doorway. Something inside of him quivered. Broken, battered, clinging to a thin shard of reality, the martyr-forced-into-martyrdom stood in awe at the scene that lay before him. He had come to warn his people, to offer them salvation at the price of blood...and they were...

_Laughing_!

Laughing, as though this were some stupid game he'd decided to play at, some cleverly outrageous tale he had devised in order to cover up-

—to cover up—

_My weakness._

The lounge room wavered before his eyes; the leering faces, the jeering voices, the play of shadow and light were suddenly struck from his senses. Whether it was the great weariness he bore, or the intensity of a lifetime of finding ways around his own shortcomings turning and attacking in the space of a single moment, he was not sure.

Nor was he really concerned about seeking out the cause. He merely let the memory take him.

"Born and bred into a race of warriors. Born to you, Aelai. To me! And nothing more than a low-level, third-class fighter. Is this really what's become of you, Bardock?"

The younger Saiya-jin said nothing, fixing an obstinate, defiant gaze on the man he called father. He knew what was coming next and armed himself against the merciless onslaught of words, avoiding his mother's critical gaze.

"Another defeat. Another notch to add to your record of dragging your sorry ass in and coming up with some fairy-tale to justify yourself. Pitiful_"_

Bardock knew they were right.

Power was the everything he'd never have.

The Saiya-jin woke from his trance just in time to catch another half-heard jibe somebody had flung at him. He locked eyes with the one mocking him, and felt his breath catch in his throat.

The countertop, the scent alcohol, the smell of sweat and the feel of body heat. He was alive. He could see, hear, feel. He was part of the a planet that seethed and oozed with life.

Dare Bardock let it slip through his fingers?

This planet was his own.

He served under his king, low-level fighter or not.

Frieza was about to discover that no matter how vast the hold he had over the universe, there would always, _always_ be at least one left to oppose him.

Bardock's fury channeled itself into the roar he hurled at the cynical, grinning faces around him, as if it were all their fault.

"Damn idiots! Damn you!!!"

The laughter subsided, replaced by stares that were both annoyed and quizzical.

"I don't _need you_. You can all go to hell!"

Bardock seemed frozen in place for just a moment before exploding past the doorway and towards impending disaster. Skepticism and questions hung heavy over the room.

_Time: 7:08 pm, several years before Son Gohan's birth  
Location: Earth  
Status: Confusion_

He heaved his bulk from the forest floor, glaring obstinately at an ancient sky, darkened by the coming dusk. The bland taste of the senzu bean burned on his tongue; he could still smell his own defeat. He, the Demon Lord, spawned of eternal night, drinking of _loss_. Overthrown. Beaten. Conquered.

By a _human_.

_No,_ something cautioned. _No human could have ever done _that_._

_Or is that just your pride speaking?_

From somewhere deeper amongst the sweetly scented pines, an animal trilled its mockery at him. Piccolo shifted his weight to his left thigh, maintaining a sitting position. Wind soughed within the tangled branches, a safe hollow, a place in which he could remain alone with his humiliation.

Absolutely, wonderfully, _exquisitely_ alone.

It felt like eternity. 

The bond between a Namekian parent and child was something sacred, no matter how stormy it may become. And Son had stolen that from him, taken his birthright, then smashed what was left of his pride and ground it into the dirt of yesterday's glory.

Terrifyingly, heartbreakingly, _terribly_ alone.

"You can't love. You can't feel. You have no emotion…"

"…left to give," Piccolo finished out loud.

A young girl had told him that before. And her eyes were brown, one of the little, ironic memories he would carry with him to the day of his demise. 

He'd been intoxicated with the thought that Goku was located in a small village on the outskirts of a barren piece of desert. The Demon Lord had taken the time to demolish it little by little. The girl (and _no more_ than a girl she had been), had proved the last to die.

_"You can't love. You can't feel. You have no emotion left to give." The tone was strong in its fragility, powerful at its moment of weakness._

There fell a silence.

Silence as she stared at the open palm of his clawed hand.

"Look at what you've done…" her voice quivered. Dark eyes flickered. Blonde hair glinted in the sunlight, contrasting sharply with lovely, pale skin. So soft. So tender. Such innocence.

Pity, pity, shame, really.

"Bastard. Bastard! I hope you burn in hell_!" the last word was emphasized by a feeble bout of frantic struggling. _

"You know what?" Piccolo smirked, "I've already done that."

A flare of energy put an end to the child's stream of words, and the one born of iniquity stalked from the carnage, soul bleeding at the truth he found behind that simple statement.

He sat there for the longest of times, and, when the first stars exploded into light against the night sky, he was there to greet them.  
  


_Time: 2:30 pm, one year after Majin Buu_  
_Location: Earth_  
_Status: Contemplative_

A world-weary sigh escaped the drifter's lips and proceeded to vanish into a blue sky tinged with hints of cloud. No money, no food, no luck, the thrill and glamor of hitting the road having long since faded into reality and the sudden craving for chewing gum.

She ran a seeking tongue over her teeth, irritated at the habit of 'one stick of gum per day' that she'd picked up as a child. A frazzled mind raced back to her bedroom, her nightstand, the window, the horrific curtains she had been given for her sixteenth birthday, and a familiarity long vanished.

_What made you want to stick around for so long? _a silent whisper bade her to answer. _What?_

"_I_ know," the wind sighed softly in her ear. Annoyed, Tasya jammed both hands into her pockets, only to realize she didn't have any. The oversized pants she wore screamed in protest at being paired with the tacky yellow blouse the girl had picked out of the closet at the last second, revealing both the great hurry she had been in and her the depths of her ability to keep up with what society considered 'the latest fashion'. She settled for folding both arms over her chest, partly out of custom, partly as protection against the chill breeze.

Running a hand through locks of coarse, undisciplined black hair, she breathed another disgruntled sigh and watched in dismay as dark clouds that had hinted themselves on the horizon began to rally together for what looked like the mother of all storms. Fighting back the urge to find the nearest rock or boulder, sit down and sob with the tenacity worthy of any sullen two-year-old was fast becoming harder and harder.

_Whiner. A walk in the rain never killed anyone,_ she berated herself. Stopping was out of the question; she had to get to…somewhere…fast…because it was so urgent…

A sudden wash of alarm filled her being so suddenly, she nearly reeled backwards.

Tasya shook her head, trying to clear the mist forming in her mentality. With each step, her defiance dimmed more and more. It was like…it _was_ treading the ground between fact and fantasy, a sort of grey area between the two. It was—

_::**FLASH**::_

_"KAKAROT!!!"_

_The Saiya-jin's last, dying cry echoed through the darkness of space, blood draining from his face, air rushing from his lungs. Nature had given him life, the tyrant would take it back._

_::**FLASH**::_

_"What the hell happened here?"_

_Clutching his friend tightly, willing him to stay alive, even it was merely for a few more stolen moments. The lips worked…moving…no noise came forth from…_

_::**FLASH**::_

Tasya came back to herself, gasping for air. She had come to a full stop, having unconsciously given up the attempts to keep on moving forwards. Voices filled her head, reproving, angry, voices she had never heard before.

_"…a disgrace. Nothing more. I'm ashamed to call you my son, dammit. _Ashamed_!__"_

_Disgrace...shame..._

_His father might as well have struck him. He stood, rooted to the spot while…_

_::**FLASH**::_

"No," Tasya hissed through clenched teeth. "These…memories…visions…whatever they are…they aren't mine! They aren't!"

_"KAKAROT!!!"_

_Vegeta-sei was a flaming orb of light and explosive, destructive, energy. A shockwave rocked what had once been Bardock's world, his life. He felt the heat from the blast, then felt—_

Nothing.

Nothing but road stretching forwards and backwards. Tasya was panting with effort; her walk had turned into a full-tilt run as thunder and lightening decided to show their faces.

_Great time for an insanity-attack,_ she mused. _This…these visions…have to stop. They're not mine. They're not mine. They're not mine._

She repeated the words over and over again in her head; they became a rhythm, a cadence that she tursted to wash her clean.

She felt as though she were denying herself.

Coming to a stop just before a rise in the path, the girl stared into a solid sheet of droplets, unseeing.

_Not mine. I am Tasya…I never lived through this. NEVER! _the thought was swift, fierce, and in the silence that followed, her tail twitched beneath the folds of her skirt.


	2. Singing the Blues

Just a warning tagged onto this chapter: there are slight yaoi undertones. More of one male appreciating the other's beauty. This isn't going to become a romance story (heck, that's the last thing I've got on my mind). Have fun! Feedback's appreciated.

**Coward's Way**

Part Two: Singing the Blues 

"There's nothing wrong with you,  
The simple life gets complicated,  
There's nothing you can do,  
Just enjoy the view, be glad you made it..."  
-Mary Chapin Carpenter, _Simple Life_

"VEGETA!!!!"

The Saiya-jin prince cringed as Bulma's voice grated brutally on his ears. From somewhere in the background, he picked up Trunks and Goten giggling hysterically at something being played on the TV screen. With a groan of protest, Vegeta picked himself up from the kitchen table and reluctantly began heading over to the bedroom. The gauzy curtains allowed in only a limited amount of what little sunlight there was left, and clock ticked away, bit by bit, counting down the number of minutes the heir of a mighty race, the mad prince, spent as a daddy and grudgingly-dutiful husband.

_Damn. She's probably found out about that thing…last week. No, that can't be it. It's probably about the Gravity Room. Or was it that incident involving Kakarot and that annoying mate of his?_

Vegeta let out a yell as several canned items of food spilled from the shelf above and proceeded to prove that his thick mane of hair refused to defend him against metal objects falling from the sky. He winced, spit out a steady stream of curse words, then exited the much-unused area of cooking

The living room was cluttered beyond belief, the stained carpet revealing indolence of whoever was supposed to be keeping the house in order. The television seemed to become increasingly louder for every laugh that tore itself from the dark head of hair that called himself Goten and the purple blob named Trunks.

_Stupid...house...getting more and more crowded every day..._

Vegeta tromp-tromped bravely onwards, towards the certain doom Bulma probably had in store for him.

Krillin ran into the Saiya-jin before he got a step further. The Z-senshi grinned, bald head, shorts, casual clothing and all.

"Hey, Vegeta. Your door was unlocked," he stated matter-of-factly. "Y'seen Bulma around? Master Roshi broke his TV set, and he's too cheap to call a mechanic to—"

Vegeta's thoughts trailed off mid-sentence.

_Hmm. Normally, the baka human would be grovelling at this point. I must be losing my edge._

Ignoring Krillin, he stepped gingerly over the brats, and found himself wondering how in hell the place had managed to turn itself from a home into a zoo over time. His mood didn't improve any when he came face-to-face with non other than Gohan, books stacked sky-high, studying in the corridor to the bedroom. A snarl tore itself from Vegeta's throat.

"Kakarot's spawn," he mumbled. "What are you doing here?"

Gohan flashed the trademark grin one could attain only through inheritance. "Studying," he replied nervously. "Mom sent me over here with Goten. Just to make sure he doesn't get into trouble…you know…after what happened last week."

A lot of things happened last week, Vegeta thought wanly before moving on and running into non other than the senior of the infamous father-son pair: Son Goku, who had the _nerve_ to come clad in what had to be the loudest shirt ever created, and jeans that seemed more faded and torn than they were useful. The spiky hair stood, defying the Saiya-jin prince's own proud mop.

The one that Bulma constantly nagged him to 'do something about.'

"Hi Vegeta!" Goku chortled, displaying the Son smile. "Hey, you're never gonna believe what happened!"

_Must…not…kill…killing…not…allowed…_

"…and so Chi-Chi said she'd take care of Piccolo herself if Gohan didn't…"

_How much does the baka talk?_

"…and because Goten and Trunks pulled that off…"

_Somebody shut him up._

"…but Master Roshi didn't want…"

_Argh…_

"…so Piccolo drank the soda thinking it was water…"

_Must…not…kill…_

"…man! I'd never seen Master Roshi laugh so hard…"

"Kakarot! What are you trying to say?"

Goku blinked. "That I'm here to pick up Goten."

"Baka!" Vegeta snapped. "Next time just say it!"

"VEGETA! Get over here."

Vegeta snarled. "Go...AWAY! Can't you see I'm busy?"

Bulma appeared almost instantly at the statement, hair still damp from the shower, wearing shorts, and...could it be? _His_ shirt. Her features, previously set into a snarl softened into a sickeningly sweet grin.

_Oh Kami, no. Not the couch, not the couch, please not the couch..._

"Vegeta, do you know where you'll be sleeping for the next few days?" she asked lackadaisically. Vegeta's expression switched from annoyed to downright frustrated. "The couch, Mr. I-Rule-the-Universe. I've been wanting to talk to you about what happened last week for a long time now.. It's not good for Trunks and Goten, you encouraging shameless behavior like that. Oh, and the Gravity Room's out of repair for now. That last escapade of yours nearly tore the damn ting to shreds."

The grind of everyday life finally toppled one of the Toughest Men in the Cosmos. Vegeta nearly lost his weak grip on rage, and, turning, he filtered his anger into each step towards the door, the setting sun, and release from the captivity of a life he found all too restraining at times.

***

Goten giggled at the feeling of his father's spiky hair just beneath his chin. From the back seat of the Son car, Gohan shifted slightly, eyes trained on the night sky, feelings trained on his sensei's ki, thoughts trained on his father.

"Jeez, Dad. We could've flown home, you know."

"I know," Goku replied quietly, prying Goten from around his neck and forcing him into the seat beside him, muttering something about safety.

_That's odd, Gohan mused. He seems so withdrawn._

Gohan leaned forwards, groping for the front seat and wrapping both his arms around his father's neck. The gesture was reminiscent of a being who had once been a young boy content to do nothing but worship his sire. In the darkness, Goku smiled.

_He's…no…it can't be!_

"We took this route before," Goku mused, "eight years ago, when we went camping."

Gohan smirked, his suspicions confirmed.

_He's getting all broody and nostalgic. Next he's going to start talking about how much he missed it when I was little._

But there was something behind the nostalgia that Gohan managed to sense. Something deeper than a parent longing for the summer of their child's years.

"Vegeta getting ultra annoying or something?" Gohan asked mildly. "What'd you guys talk about today? Or...sorry, _yesterday_."

"The usual," Goku replied, tone casual. Gohan rolled his eyes.

"You mean all that stuff about how 'a true Saiya-jin does this' and a 'true Saiya-jin does that?'"

Goku shook his head. "Not just that," he replied. "He talks about…other things."

Gohan felt vulnerable all of a sudden, as though he were the father, instructing his child in social graces. "Like what?"

"He's been talking about his father…a lot. It's—" Goku shot a cautious glance at Goten, who had fallen asleep in his seat. His voice lowered. "The blood moon is rising. You…" Goku groped for the words. "…I've told you about that before." 

Gohan nodded. It was only when Vegeta had arrived and revealed what true Saiya-jin nature was, that Goku had been able to pinpoint the reason as to why sex drive—his in particular—skyrocketed at a certain points of the month.

"Normally," Goku continued, and Gohan realized he was struggling. "Normally, a Saiya-jin father prepares his offspring for this." He laughed. "It's funny, isn't it? I never…"

Gohan bit his lip, something burning in the back of his mind. What was wrong with his normally happy-go-lucky dad, the carefree, reckless adventurer?

_He's never mentioned anything about his own father._

Gohan continued to ruminate on the events that had unfolded, musing till they reached home and Chi-Chi accepted all three with open arms.

Goku was the last to enter, and watched as Goten and Gohan retired to their shared room. He smirked. From what he'd been told, Gohan had had major problems getting over the fact that his sanctuary was no longer entirely his own. The thought, for some reason, had amused him to no end.

Chi-Chi studied her husband out of the corner of her eye, observing as he flopped lifelessly onto the cushions of their couch. She joined him, running a soothing hand through his rebellious brush of hair. The fight, for the moment, was vanished from the obsidian eyes, and the feel of her warmth was comforting. Soft fabric cushioned even softer skin, and black hair had fallen from its severe bun. 

"Goku-kun? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he replied ineffectively. Chi-Chi's gaze narrowed.

"Something's wrong."

Goku sighed and leaned into her touch. "Yeah. I know. I just don't know _what_."

"Don't worry about it," she replied easily, leaning forwards, brushing accustomed lips against his. Something sparked, something lighted from deep within.

The day's dust was washed away; hands, groping, struggling for _more_. The fastenings of weariness came undone; one body, melding with another. The insecurities fell back; banished by the familiarity of an old and beloved friend.

The only witness to their actions was the clock, ticking away on the mantelpiece, the surrounding night, and the faint disturbance the Saiya-jin felt somewhere in the back of his head.

Something was coming.

***

Piccolo allowed his eyes to open just a sliver when he sensed Vegeta's ki, the Saiya-jin prince landing directly behind him. The net of stars laced together in the night sky gave a poor light, and Vegeta's voice rent the night air with no trace of mercy.

"You! Namek!"

A growl built itself somewhere in the back recesses of the Demon Lord's throat. He shifted slightly, too comfortable where he sat to rise, hoping that maybe, _just maybe_, if he ignored his old nemesis for long enough, the problem would vanish.

Vegeta persisted.

"You feel it, too."

Piccolo's response was redolent of a rock; nothing could be heard but the sound of his breathing. Vegeta's eyes narrowed.

"Don't think I don't know. You do feel it; you can sense ki just as well as I can."

"What do you want, Vegeta?" the Namekian warrior's tone was expressionless. "Is it that you, too, see that this is a wildly different form of energy, and want proof that you haven't gone insane?" he rumbled.

Vegeta laughed, and the sound caused Piccolo's brow to raise ever so slightly. There were times when he seriously doubted the sobriety of the Saiya-jin. And times when he doubted his _own _sobriety for thinking...for thinking that...lunacy...

_Lunacy…_

Looked _good_ on Vegeta. 

Piccolo's eyes narrowed as they were hit by the light of the half-moon, revealing itself from behind patches of cloud, summarizing the prince's sleek form better than words ever could. Muscles, built of years of bitterness. A balanced stance, created from ages of discipline.

What lay behind the mask, contemplation inquired, for everybody wears one. Some choose only to don mere trinkets here and there, others throw up walls so thick, it would take eons to un-build them.

_What lay behind the mask?_

The bout of silence would have extended into forever had the energy wave not hit. The startled Namek's head snapped upwards, and he glanced untrustingly into the darkness. Vegeta shot him a sideways glance, and their eyes locked, speaking the words they dared not say aloud.

Something was coming.


End file.
